


Dear Markiplier,

by orphan_account



Category: Unus Annus - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Cutting, Depression, Fluff, Freaky Fic Friday, Heavy Angst, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Suicidal Thoughts, Swapping bodies, Vinegar drinking, mark is out of video ideas, much feels, somewhat out of character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22656265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Ethan wishes he could be just like his idol, but still be himself.Mark wishes he could be anyone else, but doesn't entirely mean it.Somehow, both their wishes come true.**Some freaky stuff happens, and they switch bodies every day with each other. Smut in later chapters, updates are randomly spaced.**
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Comments: 29
Kudos: 176





	1. Ethan, 1

Ethan sighed as he lay on his couch, he was so damn lonely. Swaddled in blankets, and with his feet poking out one end, he knew that he had to get up eventually. Soon he would need to use the bathroom, or get something to eat, but he didn’t want to now. It was so warm, and so safe-feeling, that Ethan decided to try and fall asleep right there.

Everything was just so perfect right now, the sun had set, so there was no blinding glare from the window, it was friday, so tomorrow he would have no classes, and there was a boston creme pie on the counter, waiting to be eaten tomorrow. 

This moment was an island in a rough ocean that was currently Ethan’s life. His girlfriend had just broken up with him, less than a week ago, after she found his strange… obsession, and she hadn’t taken it very well. Ethan didn’t blame her, he is a freak, always has been.

No. He is in a safe place, these thoughts are not ones he should think right now, not while he felt so good. His thoughts drifted back to his surroundings, since they never changed, and were always reassuring.

Youtube was playing in the background, he had a playlist of videos that he had seen a thousand times before, but always made him feel happy. The voices soothed him and made him think of when he still lived with his parents, and he fell asleep to their voices talking downstairs.

The blanket draped over him had a sunset-like pattern, reds, oranges, and purples. It was very soft, and his favorite. Ethan attempted to retreat even further into his cocoon of blankets, and found that he couldn’t without poking even more of his long legs out of the warmth. 

Ethan’s feet were already exposed to the cold air, the heaters in his apartment sucked, but the feet were manageable. His calves were off limits to the cold air though, and he hissed at the feeling of cold. 

Curling in on himself would only lead to falling off the couch, and he didn’t want to do that, so he attempted to get up. Of course, his mind internally screamed bloody murder as he did so, since he was leaving the safe spot, and oh god, the thoughts were back.

The thoughts invaded his mind quickly, they were every single ‘what if’ possible, and none of them were good ‘what ifs’. “What if you fail at school and end up being unsuccessful and homeless? What if you can’t pay back your student loans?” were a few examples, but the most common one was “What if no one loves you, and you are lonely forever?”

Ethan was anything but suicidal, or self-harming, but he knew that he might become one of those if he kept the thoughts pent up. Last time he had let it happen… well, he still had the scar on his hip, but that could be mistaken for anything.

Writing the thoughts down, along with everything else that had happened recently was a good way to calm himself, so he took out the journal he kept (it is NOT a diary), and got on his hands and knees to peek under the couch. 

Immediately, he tensed, this position was not one he wanted to be in, not for too long, not at all. It reminded him too much of that awful time. Ethan instead sat down, and ran his hand under the place he had been lying down. Within a few seconds, he came up with a pen, which wasn’t his first choice, but it would work.

He always addressed his journal to his idol, the one who brightened his days when they were oh, so very dark. Ethan gripped the pen in his hand very hard, and lowered it to the page.

“Dear Mark,”

No, that felt too much like he was referring to a friend, rather than the person he had looked up to for years. When he read over this, hopefully after he wasn’t obsessing over this man, he would laugh at how strange and stupid he once was.

“Dear Mark, (that is crossed out, I don’t know if it registers on all devices)  
“Dear Markiplier,” 

That was better, but Ethan realized that he could have just written ‘iplier’ after Mark, which kind of defeated the whole point of keeping the page neat. It didn’t matter now though, he needed to put down his thoughts before they became unbearable.

“Dear Markiplier,

Today sucked, yet again. This whole week sucked. In fact, the past couple of months have all been awful. My girlfriend Sarah broke up with me, I remember writing about her somewhere in here. I am still in my apartment that is being paid for by my parents, even though they told me that they would stop paying for it when they found out.

When they found out about you. It was Sarah, she found this journal and she sent them a picture I drew of you, and the poem, and the part where I said that you were the first man I ever felt attracted to. She told them, and they told me that they would cut me off from all support from them.

I don’t know when they are going to stop paying for the apartment, I hope it’s not soon, since I already have enough debt, with my student loans. My work as a waiter on some weekdays barely gets me food and other things I need.

You are the only thing that gets me through the week at this point, your voice helps me sleep at night. I wish I could be just like you, everything seems to be amazing with you. You live in a nice house, you have thousands of fans (like me) who would probably jump off a cliff for you.

Well, I mean, I wouldn’t always like to be you, I still want to be me. You have brown eyes, but I like mine. I like a lot of things about myself, but it would still be nice to be you around half the time. I know that is strangely specific, But who knows? Maybe I will see a shooting star tonight, and it will come true. 

Anyway, enough about my hopes and dreams. The week/month has been a plummet down, down, down into awfulness. I got a bad grade on a test, you only posted one video in the past month, and of course, the thing with Sarah. 

Here’s another wish; I want to see you, and meet you in real life. I want to know if your laugh is as genuine and wonderful-sounding in person.

Love,  
Ethan”

Ethan smiled sadly as he placed the diary on the shoddy coffee table, and forced himself to get up. Immediately, he sat down, because he felt really light headed, but he got back up again because he saw something.

He walked over to the window, and saw a moving light. ‘Probably just a plane’ he thought to himself, but not before remembering his wish. The light wasn’t blinking, however, so he concluded that it was in fact a star.

Ethan wondered if maybe Mark was seeing this same star-thing, if maybe this was the only way that he could feel connected to his idol. Everything was just getting worse in his life, he supposed the only way he could go now was up.

“Here goes nothing.” he told nobody in particular, and he concentrated on the idea of being just like the person he looked up to. Ethan screwed up his face so that it was wrinkled all over, and his eyes were closed tight.

Nothing happened.

He wasn’t expecting anything to, but it was still a bit of a let down. It would have been impossible, but you can’t sue someone for hoping. Ethan noticed how dirty the window was, it was covered in a thin layer of grime. Maybe he hadn’t seen a star, it still could have been an airplane.

It was late, and he should sleep. Ethan exhaled, and listened to the noise his feet made as he entered the single bedroom in the apartment. In the room, there was a good sized bed, a dresser, and a bunch of boxes that he hadn’t unpacked in the year that he had lived there.  
He didn’t even bother to take off his stiff jeans, only throwing off his shirt and pulling the covers over his cold body. 

Sleep came quickly.


	2. Mark, 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes.

Mark groaned as he downed another shot glass. He savored the awful taste of the drink that burned his throat. It caused him to cough and splutter, and a bit of the pale liquid splattered on his recording desk. 

‘Why the fuck am I doing this? He thought to himself, as he took another sip. He did so many things for his fans and it was starting to tear him apart. He had done everything. Four-thousand videos in and he was running out of things to do. He just had to keep one upping himself.

And now he was here. Drinking vinegar for youtube views.

"Thank you everybody so much for watching and see you next time, bye bye!" He finished. Mark waited for a moment then reached up to shut off his camera and sighed. It was the fifth video he had filmed that day. 

Normally, he would just film one, and that would be the end of it, but he just couldn’t tonight. Most of the videos consisted of him doing random shit, that usually ended when the idea seemed to trickle off into nothing, or when he zoned out for more than a minute or so.

So, not really fifth video, but fifth take. 

Lately things had been off, or wrong. Mark’s mom had suffered a stroke. A few days ago, Amy had decided that they should “take a break and see other people”. And on top of all that, his seemingly endless list of things to do on camera was no longer endless, and there were no more new things for him to do.

Mark had considered taking a break, but he couldn’t think of how to do that without losing subscribers. Speaking of those people, a lot of hate comments had been popping up lately, some of them were about his appearance, things like ‘you are so ugly’, while others told him that his content just sucked. 

He had to stop looking in the comments because the 20th or so most liked comment was something along the lines of ‘Kys, you suck’. The first time Mark saw that, he cried a little, and couldn’t sleep for a week.

Everything was just, well, getting to him. He didn’t want to get out of bed half the time. Thoughts that screamed at him to do what the comment said, to tie a noose and hang himself were getting harder and harder to ignore each day.

His hands shook, and a bit of vinegar splashed onto his hand. The cold caused him to jolt, and more of the sharp smelling liquid spilled, this time all over the table.

“I hate everything. I wish I could be someone else, anyone other than me. I need a break.” Mark said loudly (maybe to the vinegar?), even though nobody was there. He walked out of the room, his feet thumping on the floor. 

Tomorrow would be a recording day, today he just couldn’t. Besides, it was getting late, the sun had long since set, leaving him with just a bright lightbulb above him that did not make him look very good. 

He remembered to dodge the creaky board on the floor, and immediately felt sad because he didn’t need to anymore; Amy had already moved out and wouldn’t hear him. Mark felt a jolt of anger, and stepped on the board with his full weight. 

The board made a very unsatisfying squeak, and it left mark only feeling sorry for him self as he headed into the bathroom to wash his hands. ‘After this,’ he thought, ‘I will go to sleep. Err, I will take a shower and then go to sleep.’

Mark finished rinsing the vinegar off his hand, and turned the shower tap. He nearly forgot to take off his clothes before stepping in. His fingers peeled off the shirt that clung to him, since Amy liked the house to be cold and so Mark had turned the heat up to 80, which probably wasn’t a very good idea now that he thought about it.

He would have to turn it down before he went to sleep.

Rubbing shampoo into his hair, he saw the razor. It was always there, but he hadn’t touched it in months. Well, he had to shave, but hadn’t touched it in the way that he wanted to, feeling it opening his skin, to feel the pain.

A few cuts wouldn’t hurt, would they? Not on his arms, but on his hip, where no one would see it, and if questioned, he could say that he was trying to shave, and accidentally cut himself. One or two wouldn’t drain much, just enough to make him feel better.

To restore balance, to gain control over the sadness he felt. When he cut himself, Mark felt good. Not a sexual good, just happy, and he felt, well, almost safe while the blade was breaking skin.

No. Not tonight. In a week he would have to do a fan meet up in a place in Maine. Mark didn’t know much about Maine, he had never been there, for all he knew, it might be warm and he might be expected to wear shorts. That was Maine, right? Or was it the really cold place? Mark couldn’t remember, but he didn’t want to take any chances. 

Mark decided that instead of escaping in that way, he would escape into random thoughts, not really thinking anything too deep, just wondering what aquaman would do if he met a platypus. He wrapped himself up in a towel, and went to his bedroom. 

His hair didn’t need to be dried, he just shook his head and he didn’t care what he got wet. He put on an undershirt and boxers, before pulling up his covers.

Henry, Amy’s dog walked into the room. Mark knew that she was going to pick Henry up tomorrow, in the evening. At least Mark would always have Chica, who was currently on the bed, where she wasn’t allowed.

Mark didn’t even make her get off, he just moved her and got onto the bed. She immediately climbed up onto his stomach (oof), and laid right down. It felt nice to snuggle with someone, even if that someone was just a dog.

Sleep came quickly.


	3. Ethan, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ethan wakes up in... wait a second... this isn't his room!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this on my kindle fire at 2 AM please keep that in mind as you read

When Ethan woke up, he was in a room that seemed way too warm to be his own. Without opening his eyes, he reached for the glass that he always kept on his bedside table. His hand only touched more matress.

That was strange, since he only owned a relatively small bed. But even when he kept reaching, he only found empty space on the side of the bed. Ethan reached to the other side, still nothing. It was so early though, he could see light streaming in through a ceiling window…

Wait a second, there were no ceiling windows in Ethan’s bedroom. In fact, there was only one window in Ethan’s bedroom, while this room had many more, that were all shining bright sunlight into his eyes. This was not Ethan’s bedroom.

He was swaddled in blankets that weren’t stained with coffee and were a completely different color. They were soft and comfortable, unlike his own stiff sheets that only seemed to get colder the longer he stayed in them.

Why was he here? Had someone kidnapped him? Ethan frantically looked around. The walls were covered with paintings and photographs, along with a couple posters. He attempted to sit up, but found that there was a dog curled up on his chest, a large golden retriever that was sound asleep.

Since this obviously wasn’t his dog, or bed for that matter (it was so comfortable), he tried to push himself up out of bed, and gasped. The arm that he saw pushing on the bed was not the one he fell asleep with. It was muscular and a lot… hairier than his own, and come to think of it, his face felt weird, it felt heavier than normal.

The dog on his stomach started waking up, yawning and instead of getting up, crawled closer to his face. ‘THIS DOG IS GOING TO KILL ME, BITE OFF MY FACE!’ Ethan thought to himself, and closed his eyes in preparation for the pain. He was instead met with a warm, wet tongue that started giving him dog kisses.

He felt a great stab of happiness at this, it was like he couldn’t control how he felt in that moment. The dog seemed to sense this, and he could feel a wagging tail hitting his leg as the dog’s kisses sped up.

Ethan began petting the dog, and the dog hopped of his stomach, to lay next to him. He heard footsteps, and opened his eyes wide to find his kidnapper!

Ethan actually sat up this time, and got out of bed. He felt slightly taller, only by an inch or two, it seemed like everything was… off. His head was heavier than he remembered, and he felt an urge to go work out, which he nearly never did.

His feet made slapping noises on the floor, which was strange, Ethan knew he had high foot arches, not flat ones that would make this noise. The dog followed him as he attempted to find a bathroom, only to first stumble into another bedroom, and then a room that looked quite strange to him. There was black padding all over one wall, and nothing but a desk and a chair when it came to furniture.

On the desk was a computer that was plugged into the wall, and appeared to be on. When he walked over to it, he saw that it was in fact recording. Ethan clicked out of the recording software, and clicked into chrome in an attempt to find out who’s body he was currently in.

There was no account logged into chrome, or into gmail, or into google drive. It was logged into steam, but the long string of numbers probably wouldn’t help Ethan find out who this person was. He was looking for more applications that might need a login when he accidentally clicked on the camera.

Of course, the computer didn’t have a camera on the closed side, so when the camera booted up, it showed Ethan the face that was on his current body.

He gasped, and his hand flew up to touch the face of his idol, Mark Fischbach. The stubble felt so real under his fingertips, it made Ethan realize that this must be too crazy to be true.

“This must be a dream, a very realistic dream. This must be the best dream I will probably ever have!” Ethan practically yelled, maybe to the dog. He realized that the golden retriever must be Chica, Mark’s dog, that he talked about a good amount in his videos.

His hand flew up to the face again, but this time not to confusedly grab at it, instead to gently feel the bump of the nose, the thick eyelashes, and the stubble on the chin. Ethan touched the lips, which were much thinner than his own, and he found himself pushing one of his fingers between them.

Mark’s tongue was so much larger than his own, and he swirled it around the finger. For some reason, the finger tasted slightly like vinegar, which was strange. Ethan’s other hand reached down and began tugging lightly on the bottom of the undershirt.

Since Marks body had been sweating while he was sleeping, the undershirt was kind of peeled off. It was almost like removing a second skin, even though the feeling was almost… muffled. As a hairless chest was revealed, Ethan’s (Mark’s) eyes began to widen as he saw that Mark wasn’t really ripped, but he was lean, and had a couple scars.

He ran his fingers over the chest, over the scars, and stopped at the nipples. They were a bit larger than his own (honestly everything on Mark was larger), and when he touched them the body immediately began to shudder. 

“Hmmm. Very sensitive, I see…” Ethan started saying, and realized that it wasn’t his voice saying the words. Just like everything else, it was Mark’s, a deep baritone. He could feel slight arousal creeping through Mark’s body, and he continued touching his nipples.

Ethan began heading back towards the bedroom, this time savoring the flat-footedness of Mark’s feet. He wanted to feel them right now, but he had to get to the bedroom. Honestly, Ethan just wanted to feel every single inch of Mark’s body, from his smooth skin (which Ethan definitely didn’t have) to his dick, which seemed to be quite large compared to Ethan’s.

Somehow, the door was closed. Ethan assumed it was a door that you could just push, and it would automatically swing shut once you let it go, like the one in his room. He swung Mark’s hand forward, and hit the door, hard.

“Oww! Shit!” he yelled as pain shot up his arm. Ethan supposed that Mark’s body was much stronger, and he should be careful. But something was strange about how he reacted to that pain, it almost felt… Muffled? It was strange.

Now that Ethan knew it wasn’t a push door, he realized that the door had a knob. He reached down, and opened the door. Chica was still sitting on the bed, and Ethan called to her in an attempt to get her off the bed. 

Chica didn’t even look at him, she was facing the other direction, but she did wag her tail. Ethan tried making kiss noises, which usually worked on his aunt’s cat, to no avail. He clapped, snapped, and whistled. Nothing was working.

He walked over to her, and reached around her sides to pick her up. Immediately, she began wiggling out of his grasp. Ethan attempted to move her, but she managed to kick him with her hind leg.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, since her claws had apparently not been cut in a while. They scratched his side, and he could see a tiny bit of blood. But again, he didn’t feel much. ‘It might be because this is all a dream,’ he thought to himself. 

Ethan couldn’t help but feel bad, even if this was just a dream. He was injuring Mark, something he never wanted to do. Chica seemed to sense this sadness, and immediately hopped off the bed and started walking away, down the hall.

But the scratch was tiny, and Ethan’s fingers had found their way back to his chest. It was hairless, seemingly waxed. Normally, Ethan’s chest had no hair just because he naturally didn’t grow any hair there, so it felt somewhat similar. 

The scars felt slightly different than the normal skin. Not rougher, or bad, just different. Ethan himself didn’t have many. He felt a slight spike of arousal as he caressed the body he was currently in.

This was going to be a GREAT dream.


	4. Mark, 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhh mark wakes up in ethans body and weird stuff is happening to his pp. 
> 
> I WROTE THIS ON MY KINDLE FIRE AT 3 AM.

Mark woke up feeling uncomfortable. Something he was fairly used to these days but something felt different. Mark shut his eyes and rolled over, not wanting to face a world full of fans with high expectations that he just couldn't meet.

Mark haphazardly reached out his hand to pet Chica, but instead reached the edge of the bed and knocked something over.

“Ah, shit.” He mumbled. Some liquid flowed over Marks hand as he felt for whatever he had knocked over. It was cold and jarring. 

Marks eyes snapped open. It was a water glass on a bedside table, the contents of which had spilled and began to drip down to the floor. The strange thing was, Mark didn't have a bedside table, and he didn’t remember bringing any water into his room, and where was Chica? and-

That's it, I've finally lost it. Mark decided to just try and go back to sleep but he couldn't, he felt as if his body had been injected with caffeine and he just couldn't get back to sleep. 

Mark sat up in bed and immediately fell back into bed. This wasn't his room or his bed. It looked like some weird teenager's room, there were clothes strewn all over the floor and a large desk with what appeared to be some recording gear. It seemed to be a more simplified version of his own recording equipment.

The thing that had shocked him though, was the large poster of himself on the wall at the foot of his bed. Looking at it, his hand instinctively began inching its way up his thigh. Mark watched, dumbfounded as his hand crawled closer and closer to his…

Mark slapped his hand away with his other hand. What the hell? He dismissed it and decided to explore this strange place. Maybe he was kidnapped, or maybe he was dreaming. Yeah, he was probably dreaming.

Mark got out of bed and tried to walk to the door of this room and almost fell on his face. He had put way too much force into his step. It felt like he had lost twenty pounds overnight, and his whole body felt lighter. What had happened to him?

Mark took a few more cautious steps before getting the hang of walking in this strange new body. He started exploring the house. He wanted to find a bathroom, or at least a mirror. He wasn't even sure if he was in his own body anymore. 

Eventually, he stumbled his way to a bathroom. It was actually really close to the bedroom he had woken up in. Actually, in hindsight, that should have been obvious. 

Mark hesitantly approached the mirror. What he saw was the face of a young looking boy, maybe in his early 20’s. He had blue hair and a lot of acne, staring back at him. What the hell? This is a dream. This has to be a fucking dream.

Mark slowly backed away from the mirror. And felt his back hit the wall behind him. He slid down until he was on the ground. Suddenly, Mark got the strangest feeling. It felt as if invisible hands began playing with his nipples.

“Ah…” Mark almost let out a breathy moan before stopping. He brought a hand to his chest. Why did he feel this way? What was happening? Mark wasn't even sure. Mark just sat there, confused and now slightly aroused, as the invisible hand continued to stimulate his nipples.

Then, as quickly as it began, the feeling stopped. Mark stood up. This was all too confusing, so he decided to go back to the bedroom. Just before he reached the bedroom door, Mark felt a sharp pain in his hand.

“OW! FUCK YOU!” He screamed. Then he stopped. “What am I even yelling at, My hand? The Door?” Mark started voicing his questions, more to himself than anything. Although at this point, he wouldn't be all that surprised if the walls started to answer him. Maybe the ceiling fan would start talking to him.

Carefully, Mark pushed the door open and let it swing shut behind him. He collapsed back onto the bed he had woken up on. Maybe if he fell back asleep he could end this shitty dream. Mark let his eyes flutter closed…

Mark waited for sleep to come, but instead, felt something scratch his hand. He opened his eyes. He was still in the boys room. He looked around for what had scratched his hand, and found nothing. 

Looking around, Mark searched for an escape. He needed to get out, and to get out now. A shudder went down his spine as he stared at the walls around him. It felt like they were closing in on him. 

He opened the door to exit the room, to find a hallway. The feet of the body he was in didn’t make the loud noise his feet normally did, these made a more ‘pat pat pat’ kind of noise, rather than a ‘slap, slap’. Mark felt unsteady, this head felt lighter than what he was used to and these feet were smaller than his normal ones.

In fact, all of this body was smaller, slightly shorter, scrawnier, and it felt… wrong. As he walked, attempting to get out of the house (apartment), he saw that he was pretty high up from the ground. Maybe he could just jump out the window.  
There was an idea… One that had originally been a half-hearted threat to nobody who would actually care, but there was an inviting looking window nearby. Mark pushed it open and considered his options. 

Mark felt a pang of hesitation. He didn't quite understand how he felt about this yet, this was what he had wanted wasn't it? To be relieved of his responsibilities of upholding his four-thousand video legacy. It just felt so wrong, even in a dream. Sleep was how he liked to forget his troubles. Why were dreams of suicide haunting him here now too?

“GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!” He shouted into the wind. It felt nice to just yell once in a while. It was the loss of control that really broke him. He liked to have something constant, something that he got to decide. Even if that something was his own life. His hands grasped the windowsill as he inched his body weight further out of the apartment.

But there it was again, the spiking of arousal as he felt hands all over him. It made him feel sick, he wanted to throw up. And yet, he felt this body arching his back into the touches, subconsciously. He pulled back from the window to find himself sporting a full erection.

Look at that, you cant even kill yourself properly in a dream! The whispers in Marks head were taunting him.

“SHUT UP!” Mark felt so stupid, having a fit over his own arousal. Like some kind of toddler throwing a tantrum. He was sure the people in the apartments near him would be confused. That was one benefit of this body, he supposed. He could do things that wouldn't ruin his reputation.

Mark sat back on the bed. There wasn't much to do now except give in.

He gently lowered one of the boy's hands to the groin area of the body. The body he currently was in wasn’t unattractive, with it’s scrawny limbs and acne ridden face, but Mark hated every bit of his current situation.

He backed away from the window, realizing that seeing the place that he nearly just killed himself with was a bit of a mood killer. Again, the feet of the body made lighter noises than what he was used to. It almost felt like this was real, since Mark could feel the wooden flooring underfoot.

The bedroom was close enough that Mark had enough time to maneuver himself into the bed before he felt the hands all over himself again. He reached one hand down, and touched the boy’s dick through the pants he was wearing.

Although the initial contact made him hiss (that much was instinctual to the body), the touch felt… muted almost. Like touching something with those big oven mitts; you get some sensation that something is there, but you can’t really feel it.

Still, palming the now-hard member felt quite nice, and Mark found himself moving his hips lightly to create a bit of friction. He felt the boy’s cock twitch, and he squeezed harder, just as another wave of arousal and the feeling of hands on his chest hit.

It was almost enough to make him cum on the spot, and leave a large wet patch in the pants that the he was wearing. Mark bit his lip, and nearly drew blood. He felt almost bad for invading this person’s privacy, but if he didn’t deal with this, he was pretty sure his head was going to explode.

That thought was enough to push his hand into the sweatpants that he was currently wearing, and under the underwear. This kid was a decent size, smaller than Mark normally was. Or was it that Mark had bigger hands, and so this dick felt bigger in this kid’s hands?

It was an interesting thought. He pulled one of the hands out of the sweatpants, only to see that it did, in fact, seem to be smaller than what he was used to.

Thinking about hand size was starting to kill the mood, but only slightly. Another flash of hands, this time on his ass, was enough to cause him to perk up again. 

Mark groaned slightly, not in pleasure, but because this sucked. He cut off his groan quickly when he noticed that this wasn’t his voice either. It was much, much higher pitched than what he was used to. 

He shuddered, since it felt so wrong for his words to come out like that. Mark also realized that whatever he was doing was quite gay, which he had proclaimed many times he was not.

This was going to be an awful dream.

Please note that I stayed up really late and wrote this on my kindle fire, which is why the perspective is kinda shitty. sorry :/


End file.
